


Poems for a Lullaby

by Mothfluff



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Ineffable husbands - Fandom
Genre: Crowley Loves Kids (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-10-17 00:04:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfluff/pseuds/Mothfluff
Summary: “What are you reading?” He'd ask, and she wouldn't bother answering, as he didn't know any of the writers anyway. “Can you read it to me?” would follow, and she'd oblige, a deep voice reciting poems and reading passages that were far too advanced for a little child. Not that it mattered, as Warlock slowly drifted into a content nap, pressed against Nanny's side, arms around her, her hand brushing through his hair as she deftly turned pages with just one hand.Nanny had changed a lot ever since she'd re-introduced herself to him as Crowley. Not that he cared much, since deep down, he was still Nanny, and they both knew it.And much like Nanny, Crowley hadn't stopped reading.





	Poems for a Lullaby

Nanny hadn't been one for too much physical touch. Sure, there were hugs and kisses on scraped knees, carrying Warlock around, soft pats on his head and holding hands on walks and-

okay, maybe Nanny had been one for physical touch, he realised thinking about it now.

But she wasn't for cuddling. That he remembered right.

Except for their readings.

Nanny read a lot. When Warlock was busy running around making airplane-dropping-bombs noises, or drawing scenes with a lot of red crayon blood, Nanny was sitting a little off somewhere, nose in a book.

(Not in the garden, though, never in the garden. Nanny had explained that books would get far more dirty and stained in the grass, so no books in the garden. Ever.)

And when Nanny read, she was okay with cuddles. Warlock would sidle up to her, climb on whatever chair she was sitting in, leaning against her side. Her arm would come around his shoulders naturally, without so much as a thought.

“What are you reading?” He'd ask, and she wouldn't bother answering, as he didn't know any of the writers anyway. “Can you read it to me?” would follow, and she'd oblige, a deep voice reciting poems and reading passages that were far too advanced for a little child. Not that it mattered, as Warlock slowly drifted into a content nap, pressed against Nanny's side, arms around her, her hand brushing through his hair as she deftly turned pages with just one hand.

Nanny had changed a lot ever since she'd re-introduced herself to him as Crowley. Not that he cared much, since deep down, he was still _Nanny_, and they both knew it.

And much like Nanny, Crowley hadn't stopped reading. Warlock watched him slide down the couch in Brother Francis' – sorry, Azis-Azero-...Aziraphale's! - backroom, an ancient looking book in his hand.

(Warlock was visiting them often now, a year or two after the whole weird thing in the desert. He was growing into a teenager, and his parents – now divorced and yet still busy, still travelling – were glad to know they had a place to bring him to where he'd be properly watched and not cause any trouble. He hadn't yet figured out how they could never realise Nanny wasn't, well, Nanny anymore, but he suspected it had something to do with the whole 'non human' thing. He didn't really care.)

He kept watching from the desk at which he was supposed to do his homework. The pages rustled into the quiet of the room as they were turned. It took an unusual amount of courage for him to speak, even more to stand up and walk to Crowley. Casual, pretending not to care, hands in his pockets and shoulders drawn back, like he'd learned from _somewhere, _he wasn't quite sure where.

“What are you reading?” He asked, and golden snake-eyes peeked at him over dark glasses before settling back down on the book.

“Keats.” Nanny Crowley actually answered this time, considering he might be old enough to actually be interested now. “A collection of poems.” He was still working his way through the century he'd missed. Aziraphale was delighted about it.

“Oh, yeah. Think teacher mentioned him once.” Warlock shrugged, trying to look too cool to care, failing. 

Waiting. Hoping. A very quiet, timid voice in the room.

“Can you read it to me?” 

Crowley's answer was without words. He shuffled to the side instead, leaving just enough space between him and the backrest of the couch for Warlock to fit in, arm slightly outstretched.

Arm now snaking around Warlock as he climbed in, carefully snuggled against Crowley's side. He still smelled just the same as Nanny, and his voice was the same deep tone, albeit accent-free, as he began to read.

Warlock closed his eyes, not really listening, as usual. He could feel Crowley's hand slowly making his way through his hair. (It was even longer now, still growing, and he really liked it for some reason. Didn't know why, really. Knew though, deep down, that Crowley might know. Knew that if he wanted to talk about it, there was no one but Crowley who'd listen, who'd  _understand_ .)

He was asleep in minutes. Crowley's voice slowly drifted off, his hand not stilling yet.

An adorable little tableau for Aziraphale to find as he stepped into the room, beaming a smile at the demon who only answered with a  _“Don't you dare say anything, angel”_ stare.

“I was going to ask if you wanted some tea.” Aziraphale whispered as best as he could. “I guess we can wait with dinner a bit.”

“We can start it, though. He needs to finish his homework later anyway.” Crowley answered in a normal volume, knowing from experience it wouldn't wake Warlock up. He snaked his arm back around, trying to get up from the couch without jostling him, slowly pushing his head from his chest onto a pillow. It was a rather more difficult endeavour than it had been when he was small enough to just be lifted off of him.

Aziraphale chuckled, watching the scene, until Crowley came to stand next to him.

“Maybe he's getting a bit too old for that.” The demon mumbled.

“Nonsense.” the angel patted his shoulder. “You're never too old to be loved.”


End file.
